Ashes for the Elephant God

by Vijaya Schartz

  I motioned toward the designated truck. Taking a heavy bundle from a slight, elderly woman, I carried it to the vehicle, passed it to a man already inside, and gave the woman a heave while the man lifted her up by both hands.

  A scrawny teenage girl heading off chickens toward a small wire cage looked like she needed help.

  "Are we taking the birds too?" I turned toward our team leader.

  Swamiji, carrying a brown child on each arm, smiled with indulgence. "And the goats, and the hogs. I'm afraid these people won't leave their most valued possessions behind."

  Damn chickens! Working with the village girl, I rounded up the stray birds who promptly responded to English threats and French curses from a gesticulating foreign devil woman. We chased goats and hogs, rolled rushes of coconut fiber, carried bundles of damp clothes, cans of coconut oil, tin boxes of spices and kitchen utensils, and even a small stove and farming tools. We coaxed the women, guided the old, smiled to the children, and pressed the men. We even prayed and sometimes begged. Finally, unruly kids, men, women, possessions, animals and even breakfast were loaded on the truck.

  The heavy vehicle got underway unsteadily, heading toward safety, men, boys and wire cages hanging, monkey-style, outside the wooden planks. The mangy dog ran after the overloaded truck for a while then stopped, barking fiercely, left behind, unclaimed.

  I approached the bony animal, talking as I walked. "Good doggy! Do you want to come with us?"

  The dog turned to face me, growling with bared teeth.

  I knelt. "I know you're scared, but I won't hurt you." I extended one hand, in what I hoped was a friendly gesture.

  The dog jumped back, snapped his jaws and barked furiously, shaking his scruffy head in hostile defiance.

  "Fabienne, let's go," Swami Satiananda called over the clamoring of the engines.

  Turning around, I realized everyone had already boarded the five remaining trucks. Swiftly, I climbed into the last vehicle, hoping the dog would depart the valley before the flood. The motorized column moved forward under a black, threatening sky. Lightning and thunder broke ever closer to us. I thought about Mukunda. Was he safe? Was he in the next village?

  Soon, a steady downpour battered our helmets, soaking us to the bones as we were flung and mud-splashed in the bumpy ride. Suddenly the convoy stopped. I wondered why as I saw no hamlet nearby. Mechanical problems? I hoped not. I jumped down to find out, glad to feel solid ground under my feet.

  When I neared the first truck, a young Indian man I recognized as Amit smiled at me and wagged his head. "A cow! She is not wanting to move."

  The skinny white bovine just stood there, challenging the hood of the roaring Daimler, impervious to noise and rain, chewing her cud. I wondered where she’d found grass in the bare fields washed by the rain.

  "Can't we go around her?" I knew better than to suggest leading off or kicking the dumb animal in the rear, although the thought did enter my mind. But men had been beaten to death for kicking a cow. It was also considered bad luck, and we certainly didn't need that.

  "The muddy shoulders are being too soft." As if sensing my train of thoughts, Amit used his most convincing tone. "We have to be waiting."

  "How long?" The concept sounded preposterous to my Occidental mind. Human lives were at stake, and we waited for a cow!

  "Until she is wanting to move, of course," came Amit's obvious answer.

  I must have made a face. Swamiji repressed a smile. For a good twenty minutes, we waited under the miserable rain, stomping in red mud, while Kora watched us from the dry seat of the cab, a cool smile on her face. When the cow finally decided to leave the dirt road, the convoy moved again.

  We reached the next farm, drenched and exhausted. The rain had washed all the energy from our bodies. In front of us stood dilapidated buildings of wood, straw and mud, surrounding a rectangular structure of stone, the cheap mortar of which slowly disintegrated under the repeated assaults of the elements. A blue tarp covered part of the palm-frond roof.

  Imitating the others, I dipped to avoid hitting the low beam of the open doorway when I entered the main building. So, our helmets had another use, besides protecting us from the rain. In the dark interior, rain dripped onto straw rushes covering the earth floor. The smell of mildew, cigarette smoke, rancid coconut oil, and curry lingered in the air. A whole family crouched, waiting out the downpour at the dry end of the room, where a single candle fluttered from its crude shelf against the wall.

  "Namaste, Namaste." The polite exchange sounded repetitious.

  As before, our men talked to the elders, but the farmers lifted their heads in refusal.

  "We are putting ourselves in Vishnu's hands," the village headman proffered solemnly. "He will be protecting us."

  Deaf to any argument, they wouldn't leave a semi-dry haven to face battering rain in an open truck. Who could blame them? Time, however, was critical.

  "We can't wait," Swamiji pleaded. "We have to go. Others depend on us. We have to move you out right now."

  As planned for this particular scenario, the ashram girls and I started collecting personal effects from windowsills, shelves and crates, stuffing them into a burlap sack. The villagers stared in disbelief. How rude of these foreign women, their eyes seemed to say.

  "Everything left behind may be lost," Swami Satiananda explained in pigeon Hindi. "But there's only one truck for your village, and that's all you can take."

  Reluctantly, one woman started gathering her things, no doubt afraid they would be desecrated by our hands. Then others followed, accelerating the pace, which soon became frantic. Under the sullen stare of the men, we worked swiftly, until each woman had a bundle or a burlap sack ready to go.

  When the truck pulled up in front of the door, we removed the blue tarp from the building roof and stretched it over the wooden sides of the vehicle to shelter the occupants from the rain, the protection more illusory than effective. The force of the downpour had eased a little. Eager to get to our next stop, we sent the farmers, families, and beasts on their way to safety and climbed back into the four remaining vehicles.

  The column now advanced along the dirt road toward a winding line of trees, bamboos, and brush. The convoy stopped when we reached the small river. The wooden bridge was gone, carried away by the flood, but it wouldn't have supported the weight of the trucks anyway.

  Several drivers now walked into the swollen waters to gauge the depth and find a fordable crossing. Using the delay, we extracted the lunch baskets from the cab where they were kept dry. From the banana leaves, we unwrapped pockets of flat bread stuffed with spicy vegetables, beans, and rice, which satisfied our hunger.

  Through her rolled-down window, I watched Kora conversing seductively with a young ashramite. As the young man offered her a sip from a flask, I saw Kora caressing his bare arm. His hand lingered over hers. So much for being faithful! My heart ached for Mukunda. Somehow I knew I could make him happy, but it wasn't meant to be. Kora would break his heart and sully his reputation.

  The drivers returned, yelling excitedly. They’d found a crossing. Following instructions, we all boarded the first truck for the safest crossing since the river flow kept increasing. Fueled by the food and my growing anger toward Kora, I felt more energetic. I couldn't let the trollop ruin Mukunda's life. What could possibly keep them together? I wondered what spell Kora had trapped him in. God, I wished I knew... And would the blasted rain ever stop?

  The truck entered the river in low gear. Despite the shallow water, a fast current carried tree branches and other debris that could jar a wheel, block an axle, or worse. The riverbed of uneven rocks, along with the churning rapid, rolled the vehicle dangerously, threatening its balance. While we negotiated the ford, the flow kept increasing, but we made it to the other side intact.

  One at a time, two more vehicles forded the flooded river slowly, under the yelled directions and encouragements of those already on the other shore. Both times, the trucks crossed to safety to the c
heers of the whole team. Still, the water kept rising. By the time the fourth and last truck started crossing, the water reached the top of the monstrous wheels and water lapped at the cab door and empty flat bed. In growing silence, the team watched the vehicle's slow progress with wary eyes.

  Pitching and rocking, the Daimler, now at the deepest point, started lurching sideways downriver under the force of the swelling flow. While we watched powerless, the truck's wheels lifted on one side, in slow motion. Time stopped. The vehicle remained suspended precariously for agonizing seconds, then leaned sideways and began to drift slowly downriver on its side.

  I gasped.

  The cab door opened, and the young driver heaved himself out, closed the door, and now stood upon it, calling in anguish, "Help! I am not being able to swim!" I recognized Amit, the Indian engineer.

  The silent men looked at each other with consternation. None of them could swim. Not even Swamiji?

  Rocked by the current, the truck moved half a meter. I evaluated the angry rapids. Could I make it? I tried to recall water rescue lessons from a long ago summer camp on the Mediterranean coast, but this wasn’t the blue sea of the French Riviera.

  "Do we have a rope?" In a hurry, I took off shoes, socks, helmet and glasses.

  "It's too far to throw," an ashramite remarked.

  "I know, but if you attach it to my belt, I can swim there, and you can pull us back to shore."

  "Acha!" A driver hurried toward his cab and returned with several blue nylon straps, about ten meters long, with safety aluminum hooks at both ends. "We're using them to secure the loads," he explained. "It's very strong."

  "Better double it, just in case." Swamiji smiled his approval. "We can tie the other ends to a truck and back it up to pull you out."

  "Hang on, Amit," the driver yelled to his comrade standing on the doomed rig.

  The other drivers added their own nylon straps. Soon, solidly harnessed, I walked to an elevated bank, upriver from the upturned vehicle, and faced the murky waters churning below. Good God, I had no idea whether or not I could make it.

  Mentally repeating the mantra, I dove as far from the shore as I could. Tepid water filled my nose, ears, and eyes. When I surfaced, gasping for air, branches, dead animals, and various debris floated by. Without my glasses, the upturned rig, twenty meters away, looked like a blurry line over the surface. I could hardly see where I was going. The current carried me swiftly, and I used it to reach the middle of the river, swimming hard to avoid being swept past the wreck. After a thrashing ride that sapped most of my strength, I finally gripped the side of the truck bed and called, panting, to the driver.

  "Hi, Amit. It’s me, Fabienne. Come down, I'll hook us up!"

  Like any non-swimmer, Amit hesitated. The truck rose and fell beneath him. Making up his mind, the scared young man sat on the edge of the truck, feet dangling in the water. I hooked him to the straps then pulled him down. He gasped, hanging on to the rig.

  "Let go, Amit!" I yelled.

  As he hesitated again, I pulled him away, seizing him under the shoulder from the back, keeping his head above water while swimming a one-arm backstroke toward shore. The pull of the strap tugged me steadily toward the bank, against the strong current. Soon, we'd both be safe.

  Suddenly, lightning flashed across the sky and thunder pierced my eardrums. A palm tree overhead lurched with loud cracking noises, hitting the water across the lifeline with a tremendous splash, pulling me under. Yanked into the muddy flow, Amit panicked and grabbed my arm in a vise. The straps were stuck under the heavy trunk of the palm tree. I had to unhook the safety line fast. We were too deep and too far from the shore to expect any help. Besides, there was no time.

  Squinting through murky water, already lacking air, with almost no visibility, I struggled with one hand to open the aluminum hooks. With the other hand, I warded off Amit's desperate grasp, while keeping him linked to my belt. Finally, when I thought my lungs would explode, I broke free and surfaced, coughing and spitting mud. Amit's brown face had turned ashen and he had stopped struggling. I refused to believe he might be dead.

  Now free of the safety line, we bobbed through the rapids like twin corks. Ignoring the current, the clawing branches, the doomsday roar of the rapids, and the sinister grating of the massive truck on the riverbed, I focused on one thing: the shore. Reach it fast, or the man I was carrying might die.

  With all the determination I was capable of, I fought past caring, past fear, ignoring exhaustion, pain, and feelings. I reached a place beyond consciousness where nothing mattered but my goal. Forgetting time and place, and even who I was, I tensed my muscles and kept going. One stroke after another, relentlessly... One more... One more… like a machine.

  Jarred from my hypnotic state, I heard frantic voices above. A strong hand grabbed my wrist. Others reached to pull us out. I now lay on solid ground, panting. Someone untied us and started CPR on Amit. I heard him cough.

  "Is Amit okay?" I sat up, reeling with exhaustion.

  "A little shaken, but he'll be all right." I recognized Swamiji's voice. "Good job, Fabienne. Quite a strong spirit you demonstrated there."

  I smiled feebly. "Thanks."

  After a few minutes, Amit could talk and walk. "Thank you for saving my life," he said, namasteing me for the fifth time. "My house is being yours from this moment on, and my wives and children will repeat your name as a mantra until the day they die."

  "You're welcome, Amit." It had stopped raining and the steamy sun warmed my skin.

  I felt happy, at peace with myself as I retrieved my shoes, glasses, and helmet. We had to get going. On our way to board the trucks, we passed Kora who apparently had watched the scene from the cab window. She narrowed her eyes then looked the other way as we walked by.

  The three remaining vehicles left the river road in the direction of the next village. The houses coming now into view looked almost habitable, sturdier and more numerous than at the previous stops, no doubt a wealthier community.

  On the central square, in front of the biggest building, I recognized Mukunda's green Mahindra Jeep. My pulse quickened.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mud

  Not waiting for the complete stop, I leapt off the truck in front of the main building, next to Mukunda's Mahindra Jeep. Men in pastel polyester clothes and women in bright saris carried wide black umbrellas as they hurried toward the central building, along with half naked children. All laughed, apparently driven more by curiosity than urgency. I squeezed through the door with the crowd, glad to be in a dry place for a change.

  Inside, it looked like a dark warehouse with wooden crates piled high along the walls. A few electric bulbs flickered to the rumblings of the approaching storm. I scanned the crowd, looking for Mukunda, then flushed when I saw him, tall and blond among short dark silhouettes. He talked animatedly in English to a group of men. As if attracted by a magnet, I started toward him.

  "Why do we have to be leaving?" a plump, dimpled man was asking. "Our houses are being sound and dry. The radio hasn't been mentioning any evacuation."

  "It's the safest thing to do." Mukunda's face looked haunted, as if he hadn’t slept in days. "Your families are in great danger if they remain here."

  "How do you know the flood is coming here?" a slender young man questioned, "What if the flood is not coming?"

  "We can't tell for sure." Mukunda looked the shorter man in the eyes. "But the danger is great. The causeway protecting this valley may not hold when the reservoir fills up."

  "So, why don't you open the water gates at the main dam? It would keep the level below the danger zone and give you a chance to fix the problem," a graying man with glasses suggested.

  Mukunda turned about to face the new interlocutor. "We thought about it, but it would worsen the flood downriver. The main valley is too populated and already hit by the previous storms. Besides, I have orders to fill the reservoir and set the hydroelectric turbines in motion. The government needs the electri
city to keep the country running." Mukunda raked his hair with long fingers and sighed. "I'm sorry, but it's out of my control. I'm doing what I can to prevent you and your families from getting hurt."

  The men scattered into small groups, discussing the situation in Hindi, calling to their wives and children, giving instructions.

  Mukunda's face lit up when he saw me standing there, and he bowed in greeting.

  My heartbeat accelerated. "Namaste!" I bowed back, overwhelmed by something warm and tingling I could only define as bliss.

  "Sahib! Sahib!" Amit pushed his way through the crowd. When he reached Mukunda, he tapped him on the shoulder. "This," Amit emphasized, pointing at me with deference, "is my very fine friend, Fabienne."

  "I know, Amit, I know." Mukunda used the same formal tone, smiling with indulgence.

  "You do?" Amit rolled his eyes. "But she saved my life!"

  "Really?" Mukunda studied me with renewed interest.

  "Yes, indeed. The truck was being dragged down the river by the flood." Amit's hurried speech overflowed with exuberance. "She was plunging into greatly inauspicious waters to rescue my humble being from drowning like a rat, at great risk to her own person." Turning to me, Amit bowed formally. "Fabienne Memsahib, I am being eternally grateful for this magnificent saving of my life."

  Mukunda's eyes twinkled with glee. "She did save your life, didn't she? Congratulations to both of you, and thank you, Fabienne, for bringing back among the living my invaluable assistant. That is cause for celebration, as soon as this job is over."

  "My wives will happily be preparing a feast for us tonight. I'll be sending word." Amit bowed to me again. "Fabienne Memsahib, will you be honoring my humble home with your presence?"

  At my slight hesitation, Mukunda intervened. "I'll give you a ride from the last hamlet. We can stop at my place if you want to clean up." He looked me up and down and, despite my drenched state, seemed to like what he saw. "I may even have something to fit you." His eyes smiled for him.